RED, GREEN, OR MURDER - Poisoned Pen Press (UK)

32 Steven F. Havill
“We’re reminiscing,” Maggie said. “Can I help with
anything?”
“No, ma’am. Thanks.” For a moment, Estelle stood there,
looking as if she wanted to ask us something, then turned away
with a sympathetic little nod. She left the house with Linda
Real in tow.
“What a gorgeous creature,” Maggie said.
“Yes, she is,” I agreed. “She’s managed to cope, though.”
Maybe Maggie knew what I meant, maybe not.
“How’s the clinic going for them? What a venture that is.”
Estelle’s husband, Francis, was opening a medical clinic
in partnership with Alan Perrone. Construction was nearly
complete on the hi-tech facility on property behind my house
on Guadalupe Terrace, south of the interstate. Posadas Health
Center included offices for three physicians and a pharmacy. I
knew that plans called for another wing that would include a
dental office.
“They’ve had their challenges,” I said. “Like anything. But
it’s what they’ve wanted.”
“Realtors everywhere burned you in effigy for giving away
that land,” Maggie said, but a soft smile told me that I’d been
forgiven for not realizing that, in any venture like the clinic, the
right folks needed to get rich.
“I smelled the smoke,” I laughed, trying not to let any irritation
show. “I didn’t need the land, and the Guzmans did. It was
that simple. I didn’t need to make a bundle on the deal. Anyway,
I had ulterior motives, Maggie. It gets kinda lonely out there in
that big old adobe of mine. This way, I wound up with just the
neighbors I wanted.” She nodded at the logic of that. “Kind of
like your dad deciding to give that lot behind the Public Safety
Building to the county for the new office wing. He didn’t need
it, they did…”
Maggie looked heavenward at that. “And I don’t know if dad
ever finished with that or not.” I cocked my head quizzically
at that—and not because it was new information. The county
wanted more offices, for what I don’t know. One of the lots